Sometime Again
by rising.and.fallen
Summary: Oh. So Nate's only talking to you because of his best friend, not because he actually wanted to. NateMitchie.


**Sometime Again  
(NateMitchie)**

It's cold outside, and you're shivering when you try to rush through the street. You wince as people shove and pull past you, bumping into you and not giving a care. This is New York City, everything's always fast fast fast. (You sometimes find yourself wishing you could have gone to a college other than NYU, but you know this is the place that Shane calls home. And so you follow him here, to this city.) You keep walking.

You find yourself in front of a quirky little coffee shop and stare at the little slip of paper in your hands. The name in front of the shop matches the writing scrawled in messy handwriting on the paper. So, this is the place.

You take a breath and then grab the door handle and twist it, propelling yourself inside. The warmth and the scent of coffee hits you as soon as you enter, and you find yourself instantly taking a liking to it. It's homey and comforting, so important when the city itself seems so strange and foreign to you, and it kind of reminds you of mom.

You look up, searching for a familiar face when a mass of brown curls greets you, his eyes lighting up instantly as soon as they see your form. You give him a shaky grin and slide into the seat across from him.

"Mitchie," he breathes. You like the way your name rolls off of his tongue, like he's been saying it forever.

"Nate," you breathe. You like the way his name sounds on your tongue. (It leaves a slightly sweet taste.)

You open your mouth to ask him why he called you here, but he speaks first.

"Isn't it nice here? It's like a break from New York, this city is always in such a hurry. I would have liked to be somewhere a little quieter, so I found this place."

You find yourself smiling up at him, because that's exactly what you were thinking.

"Yeah, I like it too."

He smiles at you too, albeit a little nervously, and starts a conversation about how you're doing in life.

(Yeah, you're fine. You're going to NYU and you kind of like it. It's cool, and so is the city.) Your mouth turns down when you're saying this and he somehow notices it. It makes you feel good. You ask about him.

(He's doing pretty well too. He's going to TCNJ, back in his home state of New Jersey. It's calmer and more peaceful there, and closer to home.)

A woman well into her thirties, auburn hair shoved up into a bun with wisps falling out, comes up and asks you what you'd like to drink. Nate says just coffee, really black coffee. You say the same thing.

(You find yourself thinking about Shane and how he would have asked for an extra tall decaf double whip latte with just two teaspoons of sugar, no more no less, but this looks like a place without all the extra unnecessary toppings. Kind of like you and Nate, simple and uncomplicated people.)

The coffee arrives and the both of you pause to take a sip. Mmm, it's warm. And really bitter. It's nice.

Somehow, the conversation between you and Nate shifts from little sweet nothings to how you feel about certain more important things. (Like Shane.)

It's a sensitive topic and he notices. But since he has the nerve to ask, you figure you might as well tell him.

"It's, well, it's not going that well, honestly. I just thought he would be so much more. I had so many expectations of this, and it just didn't turn out that way…" The words at first came slowly but now they rush out. You start going on and on, because once you've started you can't stop.

You find yourself ending with, "And sometimes, when he touches me or kisses me I just get the feeling that he wishes it was with someone else. Like, he would never say it to me, but he just zones out and distances himself from me. It's like we're only together because we don't know any different, not because we want to be."

You didn't expect the last part to slip out—honestly you didn't ever expect to even think it. But now the words have left a slightly bitter taste in your mouth, and you look down to the suddenly interesting pattern of the coffee swirling around in your cup.

"Hey, hey, hey," he crooks his finger underneath your chin to lift it up so that you're looking into his eyes in a surprising bold move (for him at least, he's always been so sweet and shy), "It's not your fault. And it's always good to let it out once in a while."

Yeah, yeah it is. God, he's so understanding and sweet. You find yourself wishing why Shane couldn't be like that more often, instead of being so popstar-like and with such a temper to match. Sometimes he's just so bipolar and you have no idea why.

"Mitchie?" Nate waves a hand in front of you, and you snap out of it.

He looks uncomfortable, but he goes on anyways. "Yeah. That's why Shane told me to talk to you, apparently he was too scared to talk to you about your relationship himself."

Oh. So Nate's only talking to you because his best friend told him to, not because he actually wanted to talk to you. The thought stings a little bit and you try to wave it away. Nate continues talking.

"So, um, I agreed, obviously. And I heard from Shane too, who threw a temper tantrum when he realized I was right. And I was thinking, this, this relationship, it just isn't working out. Maybe you two need to take a break."

He stops, and looks at you. There's nothing to look at (your face is blank). But he's right, you quickly realize. It's the same thing you've been thinking all along, only you never let yourself accept the fact.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's what I was thinking. Only I didn't want to be the one to break it off. I mean we've been together for years now, you know?"

He nods. You think the conversation is over, so you grab your coat and start to take off. You're just turning around when his hand wraps around your wrist, lightly.

"Wait! Mitchie, I was thinking, maybe we could be, you know, friends."

You spin around to face him, and sit down for the second time that day. And as the two of you start to talk about things like coffee and music and you know, life in general, you find that it's pretty much impossible to keep the grin tugging at the corners of your face off. So you stop fighting it, and let your face break out into a wide smile (his face, by the way, mirrors yours).

You both fight off trying to leave, but the moment comes when you have to. He stands up before you, and takes your coat in your hand. You stand up too, and you both awkwardly stand in front of each other, looking anywhere but at the other. That suddenly comes to an end when he leans toward you. The scent of his musky cologne hits you and you hungrily try to take it in.

His lips brush against your cheek and his arms envelop you into a hug as he whispers into your hair.

"Call me, okay? I think you have my number. And this was fun, we should definitely do it again sometime."

As you two break apart, you wave to him and turn around (the wide grin on your face just won't come off). You steel yourself for the icy, sharp wind you're about to encounter and take a breath.

(Yeah, definitely sometime again.)

--

**author's note: **Yeah, I didn't like the ending as much as the beginning. It came out kind of bleh, but whatever. Review please (rate even if you hate!)

love, adrienne.


End file.
